


compass points you home (closer to me)

by HAMlLT0NFUCKER



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HAMlLT0NFUCKER/pseuds/HAMlLT0NFUCKER
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So I’m not Bucky from Brooklyn. I’m not who I used to be, not anymore. And I can’t be the Winter Soldier, because I don’t do that anymore. I don’t take orders from anyone. I’m my own man. I’m just Bucky, the guy who’s seen too much.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	compass points you home (closer to me)

**Author's Note:**

> Let's pretend Civil War never happened, except for this car scene. I mean, being stuck inside a car, with Sam freaking Wilson. How can you not have a decent conversation with him?

“Are you still mad at me?” 

Sam is taken off-guard at how straightforward Bucky Barnes is. From what Steve has told him, he can tell this isn’t James Buchanan Barnes, the charming rascal, part time ladies’ man. (Like, that is extremely outdated information). This isn’t the Winter Soldier either. This is Bucky, someone who’s been through too much shit, and yet still finds the time to be genuine concerned of how people think of him. 

“Huh?” Sam looks at the burly man sitting in the backseat through the rear-view mirror.

“Are you still mad at me?” Bucky repeats, looking down at his metal arm, grimacing at a memory. 

Sam coughs. Scratches his neck. Looks at anywhere but him. “Uh. Should I be?” 

“I destroyed your bird costume, remember?”

Sam groans. “Jesus, it’s not a bird costume!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky lets out an airy laugh. He straightens up, legs tight against him. The damn car is too small for the two of them. “So, you’re not mad? That I clipped your wings and kick you off the helicarrier?” 

“That wasn’t entirely your fault, Buck. You weren’t you. And that suit was old, anyway. I’ve got a Tony Starkerized one now.” Sam is hoping to get a laugh, but one glance at the ex-assassin’s obvious discomfort, his smile buzzes down. He’s a therapist. He’s heard all sorts of stories from other soldiers, from other traumatized individuals. Survivor’s guilt, PTSD, the tormenting nightmares—Bucky is the summarization of every patient Sam has had. 

Sam and his Golden Heart, his mother used to say. Never stopping to help those who need it. What’s stopping him right now?

He tries to initiate a conversation. “Do you still have them, the dreams?” 

Bucky doesn’t look at him when he says, “If that’s what you call them.”

“Nightmares, then.” 

A pregnant pause, and then a whisper. “Yeah.”

“It’s not your fault. Never was, never will be.” Sam twists around so he can see the ex-assassin better. Bucky looks down at his hands, a pained expression on his face, as if he’s terrified by the blood he sees on them. The blood he’s responsible of spilling. Sam watches as those hands shake with the anger that’s been laying dormant inside him for 20 years. 

Sam winces when Bucky punches the window with his metal fist, glass shattering all over the interior of the Beetle. He swears he can see the Winter Soldier barge through; inner conflict, white versus black, good versus bad. He can see Bucky Barnes is winning it, and he sighs in relief. 

After a while, Bucky calms down, but the same guilty look in his eyes remain. The dark circles underneath his eyes are even more prominent, and his face is paler than it was before. 

“Sometimes,”—he laughs cynically—“I think about how Steve looks at me like I’m the same Bucky he knew before. He looks at me so fondly, and he expects me to remember everything, but I...can’t. I want to be the Bucky he knows—the Bucky he knew from Brooklyn, the kid with snark and charisma and the guy everybody loves. But I can’t. I’ve seen too much...dark things. I’ve been through dark times. I’ve killed people, and that’s not who James Buchanan Barnes is.”

Sam raises his eyebrows and nods, motioning him to keep going. And he does.

“So I’m not Bucky from Brooklyn. I’m not who I used to be, not anymore. And I can’t be the Winter Soldier, because I don’t do that anymore. I don’t take orders from anyone. I’m my own man. I’m just Bucky, the guy who’s seen too much.”

There’s something appealing when it comes to people who take a stand. It’s empowering to root yourself to the ground, not moving when the world demands you to. Bucky knows what’s right because he’s not anyone’s puppet anymore. 

Sam feels his lips twitch upwards. He feels genuine pride for him, it’s embarrassing. 

“Thank you for, you know, listening,” Bucky rambles.

“Nah, man, it’s good. I’m here—we’re here for you,” Sam says. “Steve, heck even Tony. If you need help, just hit us up.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Sighing, Sam shakes his head. “You still owe me a car, Barnes.”

He hears his laugh, light and genuine, as it fills the car. “Right.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.


End file.
